


between times (bright sunshine)

by onceuponamoon



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Intercrural Sex, M/M, Morning Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-07
Updated: 2017-09-07
Packaged: 2018-12-24 21:00:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12020907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onceuponamoon/pseuds/onceuponamoon
Summary: It’s the easy intimacy of morning, unmatched; it’s too early for Bitty to want to be awake, but he’ll let it slide if this is what he gets in return for it.





	between times (bright sunshine)

**Author's Note:**

> this is for paige, inspired by [jack in booty shorts](http://omgcheckplease.tumblr.com/post/164933487532)

Bitty wakes to wisps of his dream fading away in pulses like lightning bugs at dawn, some sweet little tune sticking behind like popcorn kernels between his teeth, looping over and over from the beginning, just three little triumphant notes. He knows it’s the fog of dreams giving way to reality, knows it’s actually the sound of the front door opening, keys jingling as they’re hung in their proper spot, the alarm being disabled, and the shuffling of socks on stairs. 

He knows that Jack’s home.

The door to the bedroom opens as Bitty’s fighting to urge to roll towards the nightstand for his phone, to check on what’s going on in the world -- which celebrities are doing what, who’s posted a new recipe, how that birthday dinner for Aunt Jackie’s boy’s girlfriend went -- and to ensure that nothing more is aflame since he’d closed his eyes for the night. 

It’s probably best that he hasn’t checked the news when Jack finally comes into focus. He wouldn’t’ve wanted to miss the sheepish little smile, bright eyes, the quiet, “Oh, sorry,” as he nears and swipes sweaty hair from his forehead, “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

Jack can’t resist just a quick little peck to Bitty’s forehead just as much as Bitty can’t resist grabbing him, holding on, demanding a real kiss with an exaggerated pout.

A laugh rumbles through Jack’s chest and Bitty hums a happy noise against his mouth when their lips finally meet. It’s the easy intimacy of morning, unmatched; it’s too early for Bitty to want to be awake, but he’ll let it slide if this is what he gets in return for it. Jack’s heart hammers against the hand Bitty lays on his chest and he thinks it might just be for him. 

He thinks he’s allowed to be that self-centered, right? It could just be leftover from the run, from the conversation and pushing himself to race that last little bit against George if only to slow to a jog once they’ve split. (Sometimes, Bitty imagines that he quickens his pace, anticipating the love that waits him, soft and golden, in his bed.)

They part, but stay close, foreheads touching.

“Hey,” Jack says.

The corners of his mouth are upturned the slightest bit and Bitty finds himself grinning in response. “Have a good run?” Bitty asks.

Jack nods, knocking their foreheads together softly. “It was great; George kicked my ass.”

Bitty snorts. Voice still rough with sleep, he drawls, “I find that hard to believe,” and then tilts his head in question to Jack’s full-bodied shiver. “You cold, sweetpea?” 

After a subdued little laugh, Jack says, “No,” and kisses Bitty again.

It’s easy to get lost in it, like the sweetest form of drowning. He gets pulled under, over and over, swells of heat and affection tumbling over him, holding him down, forcing him to breathe it all in, to be consumed by it. Jack’s not hesitant -- never has been, not if he can help it -- and Bitty loves the way he isn’t shy to take what he wants in each and every kiss. By the time they part, Bitty’s dizzy; his vision sparkles at the edges, echoing the sparks cascading down his spine. _Bzzt, bzzt, bzzt_ , those fireflies are back, present now in every inhale and every touch.

Jack asks him if he’s okay in French. 

Bitty shivers and -- he gets it now. Jack had shivered because Bitty _made_ him. He answers a fervent, “Yes.”

Jack pulls away, or tries to (and just when did they get horizontal?), but Bitty grasps the waistband of his shorts and tugs him back down until they’re a sweaty pile of limbs. “I don’t think so, pumpkin.”

Laughing, Jack kisses at Bitty’s jaw and says, “I need to go shower.”

Bitty makes a disgruntled, affronted noise and squeezes Jack around the middle until he relaxes. He’s a heavy blanket like this and Bitty _lives_ for it. “Might as well have a little roll in the sheets beforehand, don’t ya think?” Bitty asks between more kisses. “That way I’d be obliged to join you.”

“I definitely don’t need convincing,” Jack says, smiling as he kisses Bitty again, all teeth and smile-flattened lips.

Blanketed as he is, Bitty wraps his legs around Jack’s waist and grinds against him with the little bit of leverage that he has -- and there it is, that little noise of disbelief, as if it’s always a surprise that Jack does this to Bitty. Of course he’s hard. Of course Jack does this to him and of course Bitty wants Jack to know it.

It’s not a surprise when Jack quashes him further, groaning and grinding right back and it’s a delightful, molten little feeling that thrills up Bitty’s spine when he feels just how aroused Jack is in return.

Sometimes they’re quick: furtive little glances that escalate into searing touches and messes in cupped hands while stifling giggles with kisses. Often, they take their time with one another: crying out in equal parts frustration and relief between bunched sheets and dewy limbs, teasing and tasting and touching and tumbling around with soft declarations or blinding grins. But then there are also times like these -- those between times where they’re not quite quick, but not trying to prove a single thing to themselves or one another either.

Bitty finds peace in them all, but the most contentment in this.

Jack runs his fingers through Bitty’s hair while Bitty rakes up and down Jack’s shoulders, clinging limpet-like. “What do you want?” he asks.

A whine escapes him, this needy little thing, because Bitty doesn’t know. “I --” He swallows. He hadn’t realized he was breathing so heavily already. He wets his lips. “Kinda wanna suck you off. But what do _you_ want?”

Nose wrinkling, Jack says, “I just worked out.”

Bitty rolls his eyes. “You of all people know that’s when people are the most attractive. Besides,” he says, “You asked what I wanted. I didn’t say it was _rational_.”

An amused little chuff breezes through the hair at Bitty’s temple. 

“Fair enough,” Jack says.

He starts to sit upright, gathering Bitty with him so that he’s splayed across Jack’s bent knees, still cradled in his hold. The air hits Bitty’s bare back; he shivers. 

A skein of impatience unravels. 

“ _Jack_.”

Sighing, Jack buries his face in Bitty’s shoulder and mutters an unintelligible something. Whatever it is makes his hips jolt and, while Bitty’s not in danger of becoming unseated, it does make him want something more secure. A better seat.

“Pull your shorts down, honey,” Bitty instructs, taking Jack’s hesitance for uncertainty.

Jack complies, exhaling in quiet thanks. 

Seated like this, Bitty can’t see much more than Jack’s shoulders, a semi-circle of his back, a crush of dark hair, a pale ear. He leans back until Jack’s face is revealed: dusty-pink cheeks, blue bright eyes, a soft smile. Bitty interprets the cocked head for confusion, and relieves it by looping a hand around Jack to steady himself as he wriggles out of his own briefs.

Again, Jack gives a nonverbal sound of appreciation and Bitty can’t help but grin, pulling him in for another kiss.

They fall back into the sheets and once again Bitty’s covered, warm on all sides, rutting against Jack because he just can’t help it. “Love you, sweetpea.”

“Love you, too, Bits. This is,” Jack says around a stifled moan, “good, eh?”

Bitty runs his fingers through the hair at Jack’s temple, distracted by the wet-red swell of his lips. He hums an affirmative noise, kissing Jack again, letting himself rut as he pleases and nodding in encouragement as Jack starts to grind back. He goes with it when Jack makes a frustrated noise, lets himself be shuffled and rolled now that Jack apparently knows exactly what he wants.

It’s almost spooning -- almost, but not quite, because Bitty’s laid half on his back rather than completely on his side; Jack doesn’t want to stop kissing him. But Jack also wants to use Bitty’s thighs; Jack doesn’t want to stop touching him.

Bitty finds that he’s more than okay with it.

Jack kisses at Bitty’s cheek, his chin, his jaw when Bitty has to pull free to gasp -- Jack’s hand is just so big and warm and his grip is just perfectly tight. Like this, Bitty can reach back and yank at Jack’s hair when he bites at Bitty’s neck. Like this, Bitty can squirm back on Jack’s dick and squeeze his thighs together tighter just to make Jack shudder and bite even harder.

“Don’t -- don’t leave a _mark_.”

Laughing, Jack pulls free just to gasp out, “Too late.” He pauses to groan, and then says, “Lube?”

“Your side, I think.”

The only reason Bitty doesn’t gloat about being right is because Jack’s quick to get back between Bitty’s thighs, slick and warm and groaning desperately in Bitty’s ear as he takes him in hand again. Bitty echoes him, grinds back, whines high in his throat because it makes Jack tighten his grip.

Jack’s cock catches, glances off of Bitty’s hole.

It’s devastating, pure heat and energy, somehow too easy when Bitty starts to come.

There are two brief seconds where he checks out, numb on bliss and the sweet noise Jack keens in his ear. He gasps for breath, coming back into his body, trembling with aftershocks as Jack ruts another handful of times, finishing wet and sticky between Bitty’s thighs like an explosive chain reaction. 

Bitty doesn’t realize his neck is throbbing until his breath has evened and Jack has sighed against his skin. 

“If you think your pretty little grin’s gonna get you outta trouble, you’re sorely mistaken.”

Jack snorts and buries his face in Bitty’s shoulder, wrapping his messy hand around Bitty’s middle, squeezing as he laughs so Bitty has no choice but to roll forward with him, smearing their mess into the sheets. Bright sunshine filters in through the window, warming the bed and Bitty can’t find it in himself to protest when Jack scoops him up and carries him towards the bathroom for that overdue shower.


End file.
